Chapter 62
“...Are you quite alright?”
Jacqueline’s voice was laced with hesitation. William offered no verbal reply, simply turning his back to her. Left alone with her thoughts, she stared down at the parchment in her hand, her expression clouded with apprehension.
The letter had been sent from Southfield.
It was a message from her mother.
A hollow, dry laugh escaped Jacqueline’s throat—a fragile sound that seemed as ready to shatter as a withered autumn leaf caught in a sudden gust.
As her eyes scanned the lines, her features grew as stark and cold as a child abandoned in the depths of winter. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself, seeking a warmth that wasn't there.
A chill wind brushed against the nape of her neck. No matter how tightly she cinched her collar, the cold seemed to slice right through her, settling deep within her chest.
Whoosh, whoosh.
It felt as though a void had opened within her heart, echoing with a haunting, rhythmic emptiness.
“Be quick about it, Ritz.”
At Benjamin’s impatient command, Ritz finished smoothing the boy’s stockings and stepped back. “There, all finished,” she said, her eyes performing a final, practiced sweep of his attire.
“Well done.”
“Wait just a second, young master.”
Benjamin, already halfway to the door, scowled at the interruption. Noting the boy’s uncharacteristic haste, Ritz reached out toward him.
“Your shirt collar is folded inward.”
She meticulously adjusted the fabric, only withdrawing her hands when she was satisfied he was presentable. Without a word of parting, Benjamin bolted from the room.
Ritz looked out at the sky, where the first pale rays of dawn were beginning to bleed through the dark. She gave a faint, enigmatic shake of her head, a ghost of a smile touching her lips.
Benjamin marched down the corridor with singular focus. He paused momentarily before Jacqueline’s door, his small face hardening with a sense of grim duty.
Just as he raised his fist to knock—
“And what are you doing at this hour?”
The resonance of a deep voice came from behind him. Benjamin jumped, his hand still suspended in mid-air as he spun around.
His uncle stood in the hallway, watching him with a look of cool indifference.
“Good morning, Uncle.”
Lowering his hand at last, Benjamin offered a formal greeting. Windsor gave a curt nod and closed the distance between them. “A good morning to you as well.”
Windsor’s gaze remained fixed on the boy, expectant. Sensing that an explanation was required, Benjamin hurried to speak, his voice tight with an involuntary edge of nerves.
“I was merely checking to see if Miss Somerset was awake yet.”
“It is far too early to be disturbing a lady at her door.”
The boy’s eyes darted toward the window. The deep navy of the night sky was only just beginning to give way to a pearly light. He muttered under his breath, the words catching in his teeth.
“But... Miss Somerset said I could knock whenever I liked...”
“Speak clearly, Benjamin. Do not mumble.”
Startled into compliance, Benjamin snapped to attention, his heels clicking together and his chin tilted upward. He stared up at Windsor with wide, anxious eyes, looking more like a fresh military recruit than the future Marquess of Preston.
“Yes! Miss Somerset informed me it was acceptable to knock at any time. As you are aware, Uncle, we have an appointment for a walk in the park this morning. Since the sun is rising, I thought...”
Windsor looked down at his nephew in silence. Under that heavy, unblinking stare, the color drained from Benjamin’s face until he was quite pale.
Had he miscalculated? Was it not morning after all?
Finally, after a tense silence, Windsor spoke.
“A morning walk. Tell me, Benjamin, do you even know the hour?”
“It was 6:48 when I departed my chambers, so I imagine it is precisely 6:50 now.”
Windsor retrieved his pocket watch, clicked the lid open, and consulted the dial.
“It is exactly 6:52.”
“...I see.”
Benjamin’s shoulders slumped. He looked utterly dejected at having missed the mark by a mere two minutes.
Ignoring the boy’s disappointment, Windsor pressed on in a flat tone.
“I assume you have been pestering Ritz since the crack of dawn?”
“No... that is, yes.”
Benjamin started to deny it but thought better of it. He knew the futility of lying to his uncle; the Devil of the Black Fleet possessed an uncanny ability to see through any facade.
As Benjamin’s posture wilted further, his uncle’s blunt words fell upon him like leaden weights.
“I take it Miss Somerset did not specify a time. The carriage is scheduled to leave the manor at 10 a.m. You will be ready then. Furthermore, you have yet to eat breakfast.”
“...Yes, sir.”
“Do not drag out your vowels. It makes you sound weak. Keep your responses sharp.”
“Yes!”
“At this hour, the only things occupying the park are starving pigeons.”
“Yes!”
Benjamin nodded obediently, though his face was a mask of frustration. Windsor turned and began walking toward the grand staircase, the boy trailing behind him with quiet, ginger steps.
Their strides were mismatched, yet the boy worked hard to ensure the distance between them didn't grow. As they descended, Windsor spoke again without looking back.
“Benjamin Preston.”
“Yes, Uncle?”
“Never allow others to see the true depth of your desires. Men will use your passions as a lever to manipulate you, or they will take what you love simply to watch you break. Keep your wants guarded within your heart, and only reach for them when the moment is decisive.”
Windsor was no master of courtly etiquette, nor could he offer his nephew the simple playthings of childhood—but he could provide this:
the cold, hard tools for survival in a predatory world, and the knowledge of how to mask one’s vulnerabilities.
“I will remember that, Uncle.”
The boy who had been vibrating with excitement only minutes ago now gave a solemn, measured nod.
They settled into the morning room to wait for Jacqueline, passing the time with tea and quiet. Windsor focused on his newspaper while Benjamin focused on his warm milk.
Though the air was devoid of warm sentiment, Benjamin felt a profound sense of contentment. Had Jacqueline been there to witness it, she might have reflected that these quiet moments were the foundation that would one day sustain Benjamin Preston when he became the Marquess.
At that sudden, whimsical thought, Windsor found himself letting out a soft, unconscious chuckle. Benjamin stared at his uncle’s lips in surprise—until the sound vanished like mist upon Jacqueline’s entrance.
The boy’s face lit up with a radiant smile the moment she appeared.
“Good morning, Miss Somerset!”
Though taken aback by the sheer energy of his greeting, Jacqueline returned the sentiment with a gentle smile.
“Good morning, Benjamin.”
Windsor was the first to depart the carriage. He straightened his jacket, fastened a button, and offered his hand to the lady.
Jacqueline, who had been gathering the heavy folds of her skirt, paused. Her gaze softened as it landed on him, carrying a look of quiet pride, much like a teacher admiring a student who had finally mastered a difficult lesson.
She placed her hand in his, and his fingers closed firmly around hers.
In that moment, Jacqueline froze again—this time, a flush of heat crept up her neck. The warmth radiating from his palm seemed to surge through her entire body instantly.
It was irrational to feel such intense heat through the layers of their gloves, yet the sensation was undeniable.
Her heart gave a strange, heavy thud. She cast a furtive, guarded look at Windsor, but he met her eyes with his usual mask of detachment.
Steeling herself, she lifted her chin and stepped down as though nothing were amiss. Even though the spot where their hands met felt as if it were being branded, she allowed no sign of her inner turmoil to show.
Her voice remained perfectly poised.
“I am grateful for your courtesy, Lord Preston.”
“It is my pleasure, Miss Somerset.”
As the formalities concluded, Jacqueline moved to withdraw her hand. But in that split second—
Windsor’s fingers trailed slowly across hers. A sharp, electric shiver raced down her spine. His touch lingered at her fingertips, heavy and slow as honey, before finally letting go.
Jacqueline stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. Yet Windsor’s face remained a portrait of indifference, making her wonder if the entire interaction had been a figment of her imagination.
He then turned to Benjamin, extending his hand. The boy’s face glowed with pride as he grasped his uncle’s hand.
To Benjamin, that hand felt massive and unyielding, strong enough to withstand a barrage of pirate cannon fire.
“Thank you, Uncle.”
“You are welcome.”
Once Benjamin’s feet hit the pavement, Jacqueline was still trying to blink away her confusion. Windsor turned his eyes toward her.
“Is something the matter?”
“...No. It is nothing at all.”
She looked away quickly, her shoulders tensing. She felt ridiculous, her mind racing with questions while Windsor remained entirely unbothered.
“Shall we go, Teacher?”
Benjamin looked as if he were an explorer setting foot on a foreign shore. His eyes were wide, swirling with a mix of dread, excitement, and wonder as he took in the park.
Then, remembering himself, he smoothed his expression into a neutral mask and corrected his posture. He had noticed the weight of public scrutiny pressing in from all sides.
There was no room for error; the eyes of the ton were fixed upon him.
I am the successor to the House of Preston. I must not bring shame to my uncle.
“Goodness, who is that?”
“That is Lord Preston and young Master Benjamin. The lady accompanying them is Miss Somerset, the boy’s governess.”
“I am well aware of that; I saw them at the birthday gala. I mean to ask—whatever are they doing here?”
The voices of a noble couple nearby carried on the wind. Simultaneously, the hushed gossip of two women on a park bench reached their ears.
“They’ve been spotted together quite frequently of late—Lord Preston and that Miss Somerset. One wonders what the nature of their association truly is.”
“Who can say? The dealings between men and women are always a mystery. However, despite the rumors, it seems the uncle and nephew aren't at odds after all—they’re even out for a stroll together.”
“Were they supposed to be at odds? Oh—are you referring to the talk that Lord Preston intended to usurp the marquessate for himself rather than let the boy inherit?”
“Precisely. I gave those rumors some credit initially, but seeing them now, it hardly seems the case. And you must have heard about Lord Preston’s birthday gift—it caused quite a stir.”
“Oh, I heard! A model of the Black Fleet! Quite a contrast to the King’s gift—the Kingdom’s historical records. That gold-leafed set is practically the mandatory gift for any six-year-old of rank.”
“And yet, Master Benjamin was heard praising his uncle’s gift above all others. It appears Lord Preston isn't as cold an uncle as people say, if he actually knows what the boy enjoys.”
“How curious. A thoughtful side to the man—who would have thought? Though, if it were me, I should think twice before gifting a war fleet model in front of such a crowd.”
Jacqueline acted as though she heard nothing. She calmly unfurled her parasol and looked down at Benjamin, her voice soft and full of warmth.
“Benjamin.”
“Yes, Miss Somerset.”
